


The Deducibles

by CrowEm



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Rugby, Artist Mycroft, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, John Plays Rugby, M/M, Teenlock, belletlock, rugbyjohn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:19:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowEm/pseuds/CrowEm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Sherlock, most people are simple, boring, and deducible. The only person that was an exception to that rule was his best friend Irene, but when a certain John Watson is thrown into the mix, he might have to make another exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where It Begins.

Sherlock hated school. He wished he could snap his fingers and make it all disappear. He was constantly bullied for his ballet. He was usually the subject to horrible homophobic slurs. For him, that wasn't even the worst part. The absolute worst part was the boredom. School work was far too simple for the little genius. Sherlock's favorite part of the day was when he could practice his ballet, as painful and frustrating it can be it is truly freeing to young Sherlock. All his worries would just melt away with the beads of sweat produced by his graceful moves.

Every morning he would walk to school with his neighbor and best friend Irene. Irene is the textbook definition of beautiful, with her long black wavy hair, big green eyes, pale milky skin, and blood-red coated lips with matching nail polish. Sherlock almost hated walking to school with her, because of the amount of attention she attracted. Though, she never took kindly to cat calling. Any man stupid enough to shout profanity anywhere near the black haired girl in her school uniform was looked down with a death glare from both bodies, and would soon have a full understanding of what it would feel like to be castrated in the 18th century.

Sherlock waved his parents goodbye, glared at Mycroft, and was out the door with Irene already waiting.

 

"It's about time William. Come on we're going to be late."

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and noticed that Irene was smoking.

 

"You know I do not appreciate it when you call me that. You really shouldn't do that in the front of the house; mummy isn’t in her best of moods.”

 

Irene looked up at Sherlock, tossed what was left of her cigarette on the pavement, stepping on it with her black converse shoes. Once Sherlock was by her side they began to make their way to school.

 

 

"How's Mycroft doing?"

 

"How would I know?!" He tried to express how disgusted at the idea of making conversation with his older brother, but gave up when he realized that it would be impossible to fully express his emotions.

 

"Sherlock, he's going through a hard time you should be there for him. It couldn't have been easy for him, dropping out of uni like that. It was really brave."

 

"Are you serious? Brave? The man quit university so he can doodle." he said mockingly.

 

"They're hardly doodles. He's brilliant! Plus, I'm sure he's getting enough scolding from your parents. You don't need to make it harder on him. He's always been there for you..."

 

"He has Lestrade."

 

"True, but Greg doesn't live with him. And he has a job that has him working long hours. You on the other hand..."

 

"You actually expect me to hold the idiot's hand as he makes the worst design of his life? Mycroft had a good future ahead of him and he decided to through that all away 'to focus on his art', because ' it's my calling in life, mummy' and 'it's what I'm meant to do, father'. He is acting like a child." Sherlock interrupted her for the second time.

 

Irene grabbed the edge of Sherlock's jacket to stop him from walking. Then, looked him in the eyes. Her face, a mix of concern and love. This was not a look Irene gave often. Both her hands went up to cup Sherlock's cheeks; this went far beyond the love Irene usually showed, which made Sherlock feel a little awkward in the situation. Then again, he never knew how to properly act when people showed sentiment. 

 

"William Sherlock Holmes. I know you're worried about Mycroft, even though it would kill you to admit it, but you need to accept and trust your brother. He's a big boy; he knows what he's doing. Though, that doesn't mean he's not scared shitless and could use all the support he could get." Her hands fell to his shoulders, but didn't break eye contact. "I've known you both for years, and I can say this with all certainty. I have never seen Mycroft truly happy other than when he was with his art and his Gregory. As disgustingly sentimental as that sounds, it is, in the end of the day, very true. And it's your job as his brother to be there for him. I'm not asking you to hold his hand and watch those god awful court dramas he loves so much. Just give a little death stares and unnecessary insults. If you're feeling extra generous that day, you could maybe say something nice about his work. Can you promise me, you'll at least try to be kind?"

 

Sherlock couldn't do anything but nod, praying that the slight bit of shame he felt at the pit of his belly didn't show on his face. Maybe Irene was right. Sherlock wasn't completely oblivious of the signs of love, it was certainly written all over his dear brother's face at even the mention of Lestrade or when someone brought up the subject of art. He would never admit to bringing up the subject at the dinner table just so he could see that spark go off in his brother's eyes. Deep, deep down inside of Sherlock's heart he knew he loved his brother. Disguised within his cold and bitter insults, yes. But he still loved him deeply.

 

"Good. Now we should really get going, I'm not having Mr. Anderson write me another note. God I hate that man!"

 

Leave it to Irene to change the subject in a split second, as if nothing happened.

* * *

Sherlock rested his head on the cafeteria’s table.

 

"I hate this! I hate this place so much. Can you please kill me?" His deep voice muffled.

 

"Oh hush Sherlock! I'm meant to be the drama queen not you."

 

Sherlock tried very hard to give her one of his terrifying glares, but realized that Irene was very much immune. Irene was reading, probably the script for that play she was auditioning for. She looked so focused, her eyebrows were narrowed. He noticed she was biting her tongue. She was also fiddling with the edge of her script. She looked tense, was she nervous? That's ridiculous! Irene is brilliant; she had a beautiful voice, she was a phenomenal actress, absolutely stunning, she was made for the entertainment business.

 

"William, it's rude to stare." She said not taking her eyes off the paper.

 

"Don't call me that. Why are you nervous?"

 

"What makes you say that?" This time Irene took her eyes off the script, placing it on her lap.

 

Sherlock sat back in his seat. "You look nervous. Is that the script you're auditioning for on Sunday afternoon?"

 

"Yeah. I just have a lot on my mind lately."

 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

 

"It's a lot of sentiment. Not really you're thing."

 

Sherlock let out a long, dramatic breath. "You know I'll find out eventually. You might as well tell me, while you're sober."

 

She gently hit the side of Sherlock's right arm. "I don't drunk call you... that much."

 

"Irene, don't change the subject."

 

The young performer let out a mighty huff of air. Sherlock felt very proud.

 

"You have to promise not to make fun of me."

 

"You know I cannot promise that." Sherlock said grinning. Then, before Irene said anything, something clicked in Sherlock's head. "Is this about a girl?"

 

Irene's silence was a good enough answer.

 

"Do I know her? Is she that red head with all the piercings? Please tell me it isn't her."

 

"Sarah was very nice, Sherlock. But no, it's not her. I doubt you know her. She's a year 13 student."

 

"Since when are you into older girls?" Sherlock raised a brow.

 

"It's just one year."

 

"I spouse. Does this mysterious woman have a name? Or were you too star struck to remember?"

 

Irene hit his arm again, only this time it was anything but gentle. "Her name's Molly, Molly Hooper."

 

Sherlock's eyes grew wide. "Molly Hooper? She's a lesbian?"

 

"Yes. Do you know her?"

 

"She's in my biology class. She doesn't seem like the sort of girl you went for." Sherlock looked very confused. He just couldn't understand why Irene would be attracted to her. Irene was much more attractive than her, smarter than her, much more talented, much more interesting, the list could go on forever.

 

"I don't know she just... there's just something about her. She makes me feel different from all the girls I've been with."

 

"I see." But Sherlock didn't. He really can't understand the attraction. They were on completely different levels. Irene was like the sun: bright, beautiful, and like the sun if you look at her too long she'll cause you much physical pain. Then you have Molly, who is like... some other insignificant planet. Astronomy was not Sherlock's best subject of study.

 

"So, what do you know about her? Have you guys talked?"

 

"Hmm, what? Oh, no not really. We have been lab partners on occasion." Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts. It took him a second, but he quickly came to the realization... "Have you?"

 

"Have I what?" Irene was still fiddling with the edge her script.

 

"Have you spoken to Molly? Or have you been stalking her since you barrowed that pencils from her once... wait, where do you even know her from?"

 

"Yes, of course I have spoken to her, Sherlock." Irene glared "She works at a coffee shop near the school. I go there after drama."

 

"And have these said conversations gone further than 'coffee black, 600 sugars please'?"

 

"William, I only take four sugars in my coffee. For god's sake, you take three." She said William bitterly, which was Irene’s way of telling him to tone it done a little. Unless he wanted to end up with a black eye. "With all honesty, not really. I just can't get the words out."

 

"You've never had an issue with flirting before. How come it's so difficult with Molly?"

 

"I don't know, it just is. There's something different about her." Irene smiled to herself, unable to meet Sherlock's look of confusion.

 

"Right, you need to ask her out today." Sherlock blurred out, surprising even himself.

 

"What?" Irene looked shocked.

 

"You need to find out whether or not what you are feeling toward Miss Hooper is just the work of hormones or if there is actually something different about her. Now, I need to leave for another unnecessary class, and feel the life slowly drained out of me. I expect a very boring story of how you are brilliant at wooing women by half past six." Sherlock got up and left the still shocked looking Irene and made his way to class.

* * *

 

Sherlock walked back home on his own. Which wasn't very odd for him; Irene usually had to stay extra hours for drama. He walked through the front door as fast as he possibly could. Mentally crossing his fingers and truly hoping Mycroft wasn't home; because he promised Irene he would try. Even the idea of being kind to Mycroft was emotionally draining.

 

"Sherlock! How was your day?"

 

'Of course he's home! Why wouldn't he be? He literally has nothing else to do! Okay Sherlock let it all out in here.' he said to himself 'Keep it all in here.'

 

"It was alright. How was yours." His words were kind, that much Sherlock was cretin of. Judging by His brother's worried facial expression he was sure his face did not match his words.

 

"It- it was good. Thank you for asking." He looked almost impressed. "I was just about to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

 

'Be kind Sherlock, be kind.'

 

"No, thank you."

 

'That was kind, was it not? Why is that carrot-headed dimwit smiling?!'

 

"You are welcome, Sherlock. I am down here if you need me."

 

"I won't."

 

Sherlock felt the guilt blossom in his stomach. He had said that on impulse. His mind did not ask permission to say that!

 

Mycroft let out a small breathy laugh. "Yes, you are probably correct." Then, made his way to the kitchen.

 

'At least the ginger was not upset.'

Sherlock continued to make his way to his room. Today was his day off of ballet practice and all he wanted was peace and quiet. Away from the crowded hallways, busy dance studios, hustling bodies in the busy London streets. All Sherlock wanted was silence. Five minutes of sweet, sweet, silence. Is that too much to ask for?

 

"Sherlock!!" Irene swings the bedroom door open.

 

Apparently it was...

 

Sherlock let loose of a very annoyed noise and made room in his bed for the young actress. "How did your date go?" He still sounded annoyed; because he was. But he knew she wasn't leaving, so he might as well collect more useless data about Irene's love life.

 

"Hardly a date, Sherlock." She lay next to him, only she was lying over the duvet. "Although..."

 

Irene was practically beaming! Her smile stretching from ear to ear.

 

"She asked you out?"

 

"YES!!"

 

"And now I am deaf."

 

"Sorry, I'm just so excited!! She invited me to a party tonight. So what are you wearing?"

 

"I beg your pardon?"

 

"Oh yeah, I forgot you were now deaf. WHAT ARE YOU..."

 

A, mostly, clean sock was shoved in her throat interrupting her before Sherlock really did go deaf.

 

"I thought this was your date."

 

"It it. But Molly has this friend..."

 

Sherlock's eyes grew wide. "Absolutely NOT!"

 

"Sherlock I know the guy! He's really cute and is pretty smart..."

 

"NO! NO WAY IN HELL!! I AM NOT SPENDING MY ONE DAY OFF WITH A DEDUCIBLE SO YOU CAN HAVE SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH MOLLY HOOPER!!!"

 

"Oh don't be such an idiot Sherlock! He's a good looking guy. Who, as far as I've heard, is a wonderful kisser, is studying medicine, is funny, and really sweet. It's not like your giving me your damn kidneys!! If you don't like him you can come back home to your experiments."

 

The room went silent for a few moments and Irene was tempted to check if Sherlock was still breathing.

 

"You said He is studying medicine. What year is he?" He asked. Purposefully avoiding making any eye contact with Irene.

 

"He's in his first year of uni, so only a two years older than us. He and Molly used to go out. Until she realized she was a big lesbo."

 

Irene was giggling. Sherlock was not sure how he felt about the giggling.

 

"Fine."

 

"Really?! Thank you!!" She started kissing Sherlock's cheek and he was genuinely disgusted at the display of affection.

 

"Stop or I will change my mind!"

 

Irene bounced off the bed and began rummaging through his closet looking for something she thought was appropriate for him to wear.

 

"I make no promises to stay."

 

Irene only responded by humming happily.

 

"What is his name anyway?"

 

"John Watson." answered back. "Dr. John Watson. Has a nice ring to it doesn't it?"

 

This was going to be a very long night...


	2. The Blonde In the Rugby Jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. I haven't really figured out a schedule because of uni. I'll try my best to make a proper schedule. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter, because I really do like it! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated.

“You owe me a huge favour.”

“Okay.”

“I am not going to enjoy myself.”

“Aha.”

“He is going to be so stupid.”

“Maybe.”

“I can’t believe you are making me do this. You owe me a huge favour.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Sherlock has been going on and on like this ever since he and Irene left his house. She knew him well and long enough to know he was very nervous.

He hasn’t been on a date in years. Actually, he has only been on one date his whole life, and it was the one he had gone on with Irene in year six. That was also the night he realized he was gay.

Back then, Irene and Sherlock were convinced they were going to get married. It seemed logical to them. They were childhood friends; they knew each other well, they trusted each other. They were also both very clever and good-looking so they would have brilliant children, because they were brilliant.

So they set up a date. They went to the cinema, just like normal people do. He awkwardly held her hand through the movie, because Irene said that was the proper way to act on a date. He then walked her home, and had an even more awkward kiss. It was the worst kiss they had ever had, not that Sherlock had much to compare it to. Then he declared, right there, in front of Irene’s house, that they were both very gay. Of course he was right, but it took her three more years of dating and kissing boys before she could agree with him.

Now Sherlock was walking with her to a house party full of people he didn’t know, to meet some guy he has never met, to potentially have his first date in six years. Irene could understand his discomfort with the situation.

“Have I said thank you yet?”

“Not enough.”

“Well, thank you again. And you never know you might actually have fun with Dr. John Watson.”

“You mean John Watson. He is only a medical student.”

“I know but doctor sounds cooler.” She brought the taller man closer to her.

Sherlock was suddenly very quiet. Looking dead ahead, looking lost in his own little world of thoughts.

“What- What should I talk about?” Sherlock’s eyes were suddenly very fond of the ground and his face felt very warm.

If Irene didn’t recognize that look of fear and shame on Sherlock’s face she would have probably teased him about his questions. He looked so… vulnerable. As if the London wind wasn’t too kind today it would probably blow him away, breaking him down into tiny little peaces. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Irene stopped walking and rubbed his shoulder to offer him some comfort.

“Sherlock if you don’t want to do this I will understand. I can tell Molly you got sick or something. You know what, I’ll call her now…”

“No!” Sherlock’s eyes grew wide. “No, I- I am simply collecting data.”

“Sherlock, you don’t have anything to prove. If you don’t want to go that is completely fine.”

“I am not a child; I do not need protecting.”

“I know, I do, but I like protecting you.” She tried to give him a comforting smile, but it seemed to have no effect on the man.

“I want to go. There, are you happy?”

Irene opened her mouth only to close it again and simply nod in agreement. Sometimes it is best to just agree with Sherlock.

“Good. Now, you said you knew him, correct?”

She nodded in agreement once more.

“Then tell me about him, so that I can make appropriate conversation.”

“You know you start to sound like the queen when you’re nervous.”

“IRENE!”

“Okay, okay.” She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Let’s see, he used to go to school with Molly. They go way back. Not as far back as us, though. He went to our school. He used to play for the rugby team, but since he joined uni he only plays it on the weekends with his mates. He’s bi. That’s pretty much all I know.”

Sherlock made a noise that was meant to express how annoyed he was, but only served as entertainment for the young actress. “You are useless to me.”

“I love you too William.”

Oh if looks could kill…

* * *

 

People, way too many people, in varying degrees of intoxication. This is why Sherlock hated house parties; actually that’s why he hated parties in general. He hated socializing; his mind would be overwhelmed with data, noticing the details that are going by so quickly. Though the drunk might be slow, but they are equally unpredictable, and if there is anything Sherlock’s mind hated it would have to be uncertainty.

His nerves were bubbling up. Mummy never fully understood why he preferred to stay in his room when guests would visit the Holmes residence, when Mycroft on the other hand, would excel at charming the guests, showering them with complements, saying the perfect things while Sherlock, if forced, would sit in the corner, glaring at the guests with his wide ever-changing eyes.

‘You have so much potential to be an outstanding part of society, dear Sherlock. Look at Mycroft; he surely has far less physical features to be proud of when compared to you. If he can be confident so can you.’ Mummy would say at the beginning of almost every single one of the events she hosted. He could see the pain grow in Mycroft’s features when his mother began with her rants of scrutiny, and only when his ‘dear Gregory’ entered his life did that pain begin to slowly fade away. Not that Mummy or Father knew about Gregory or anything about their son’s sexuality. They were allowed to date whomever they pleased as long as they did not share their genitalia.

When a slightly dense guest would approach the younger sibling at said events his heart would race, palms would sweat, his tongue would seem far too large for his mouth, and an uncomfortable feeling panic would settle at the pit of his stomach. All he would want was for the interaction to end. Why did he agree to this again?

Ah yes, a chance to meet this wonderful John Watson. He is probably some idiot who somehow slipped through the cracks of the education system. Irene could be pulling an elaborate prank on him. How could he be so stupid, Irene has never taken him with her on any date, why would she start now? John is probably…

His self-deprecating thought process was interrupted when a sandy haired man walked into the room, wearing a red rugby jacket, a white t-shirt with a logo Sherlock did not recognize, black jeans, and a beaming smile. This man was breathtakingly beautiful. His blue eyes scanned the room for a moment and his smile grew wider when he saw Irene.

“John! You made it.” Sherlock felt so stupid for not noticing the J. Watson sewed into the right side of his jacket, but what he did notice was Irene ever so slightly looking over John’s shoulder.

“She’s on her way, Irene. She had to stay a little longer at the coffee shop than she had originally thought. You don’t have to look over my shoulder.”

Obviously he was not the only one who noticed his companion’s unease.

“You must be Sherlock.”

No Sherlock refused to admit to himself that John’s smile could light up a room because that was scientifically impossible and ridiculous.

“Oh yeah, sorry. John this is Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock this is Dr. John Watson.”

John extended his arm to shake the taller man’s hand. His features were somehow warm; his smile became slightly faded somewhat like the one he came into the room with but not exactly the same, this one seemed more relaxed as if he felt more comfort knowing he was with at least someone he knew. The set of blue eyes looking up at him made his heart race but not for the usual reason.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. And Irene, please stop calling me ‘Dr. John Watson’ I’m only in my first year of uni.”

Finally?

“Finally?”

“Oh yeah, Molly is always talking about you. ‘Sherlock did this.’ and ‘Sherlock did that.’ and ‘Sherlock is so brilliant, John.’ If I didn’t have first hand experience knowing Molly has no interest in men I would have to warn Irene about the competition.”

Flattered, that is the appropriate feeling to have when you are complemented.

“Thank you, I’m flattered.”

Irene nearly broke her neck she turned it so fast to look at Sherlock with a look that was soaked with confusion.

“You alright?” John asked through a laugh.

“Fine.” She gave Sherlock we-are-going-to-talk-about-this look. “I am going out for a cigarette. Try and behave boys.”

“Those things will kill you, Irene.”

“Everything will kill you, John.”

“How very dramatic of you.”

“I’m a bloody actress!”

Irene walked away leaving a very angry Sherlock behind. Why did she leave him alone with perfect-looking man that he has quite literally said only one word to since they met? There was a small silence that John didn’t seem to mind.

“Irene says you are studying medicine.” Sherlock said after what felt like an eternity.

“Yeah, I am. Like I said, I’m in my first year so I’ve still got a long way to go. What are you thinking about studying?”

“Toxicology or something related to Chemistry, but I am still unsure.”

“That’s alright; you’ve still got loads of time to decide. My sister, Harry, took a gap year as well as dropping out of her first year of uni before deciding to study clinical psychology. She’s a real risk taker that one, as well as being a complete and utter nutter. Do you have any siblings?”

Sherlock couldn’t help but let out a very dramatic sigh that would leave Irene feeling very proud. “Yes sadly, I do. I have brother named Mycroft, a complete idiot, and dating an even bigger idiot.”

“Sherlock! Don’t talk about Greg like that or Mycroft for that matter. Look who I found on my way out.”

Irene was standing next to Molly, her smile stretched upon her face so widely Sherlock had to wonder how painful that must be. Irene was obviously very excited about going on a date with Molly, which still confused him. Molly was just a silly girl, and Irene was a woman. She was the woman. The woman you can depend on for anything. The woman who could scare the toughest roman worriers with a single glare. The woman who could get you information about absolutely anyone with the snap of her perfectly painted fingers. What was it that made her so attracted to plain old Molly? This was, if anything, very interesting.

“Hello stranger, I haven’t seen you I a while.” John was very happy to see her; the young dancer could see that. He felt an odd feeling grow inside him when he saw John hugging her. A feeling, Sherlock decided, was not the best time to explore.

“Molly you know Sherlock.”

“Yes, of course. How are you Sherlock?”

“I am well.”

The awkward smile on Molly’s face and the sternness of Irene’s facial expression was a huge indicator that he was doing something wrong, but had absolutely no idea what.

“Well then, I’m in need of some fresh air. Sherlock, are you coming?”

Not that he was given much of a choice in the matter since John took it upon himself to pull Sherlock by his left wrist to the patio door in the kitchen leading them to the back garden.  There was an old looking swing set and a slightly rusty slide. John let go of his wrist once they were outside, and walked towards the swing set. He sat on one of them and gave Sherlock his lovely smile that never really seemed to leave his face, Sherlock had noticed. They are just different from each other.

“You’re not too good with the whole double date thing, are you?”

So John thinks this is a date as well. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he should feel relived or very, very worried.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because Irene was basically shoving you away so she can get some alone time with Molly. And you didn’t quite get it.”

John looked up at him with his puppyish eyes and he felt the slightest bit of unease. Why the hell is this happening? He just could not understand why he made him feel this way. This is not how it was meant to go. He was meant to be miserable for entirely different reasons. He should not notice the slight hint of freckles plastered all over his skin. Or the tiny snort he made when he laughed. Or how he raises his eyebrows when he knows he’s got something right. He should not notice these things, at least not in this way. He is meant to be the third party. To never let his emotions get in the way. To always suppress them. What was so different about John?

“I will admit I lack experience in this particular field.”

“Well if we’re being honest here, I’m not very experienced either.”

Sherlock was filled with overload of confusion which he hoped did not show on his face.

“Really?”

“Yes.” John looked equally as confused as Sherlock. “Why does that surprise you?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He himself did not understand why he was surprised, or why he cared at all.

“I- I don’t know.”

That beautiful smile began to creep its way back on the edges of John’s mouth.

“Are you hungry?”

“What?”

“Are you hungry? Because I am starving! And I know a place that sells very cheap pizza and beer.”

“I cannot drink.”

“You don’t have to have beer.”

“Is it not rude to leave Irene and Molly?”

“You really don’t know how this works do you?”

Apparently no, no he didn’t.

“If you don’t want to that’s fine.”

“No! I- I mean no. I want to go. But I cannot promise I will eat anything.”

“More for me! Let’s go.”

John jumped over the fence, admittedly not in the most attractive manner given his height or his lack of it. Though, he did get a nice view of a certain part of his anatomy that he should feel very ashamed for looking at. He followed him and they were making their way to John’s pizza restaurant.

* * *

 

And that is how Sherlock found himself sitting on the pavement with a box of hot cheesy pizza and a beer in hand facing one of the most gorgeous men he has ever met. Sherlock took a sip of the beer and realised exactly why it was so cheap.

“Not used to drinking?” John looked sympathetic, as if looking at a lost puppy at the side of the rode. He resented that.

“I am not used to drinking cheap liquor.”

“That makes it sound like you actually consume any form of alcohol.”

“What makes you think I don’t?” his response was cold.

“I- I’m sorry.”

No! Nonononononononononononononono!! A tremendous amount of guilt took over Sherlock’s body. Why does John look so guilty? Why does Sherlock care!?

“It- It’s fine. Tell me about your childhood.”

He needed to change the subject, right? That’s what people do when they make other people sad.

John raised an eyebrow. “Molly says you can do this thing where you figure out information about people just by looking at people, right?” Sherlock nodded. “Well, why don’t you tell me?”

“I’d rather not.”

“How come?”

“People don not respond well to it. I don’t want to upset you.”

“I’m asking for it. I won’t get upset, I promise.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and just gave in. Could anyone deny that face of anything?

“Fine.”

John let out a loud noise of excitement. Then, he put his slice of pizza back inside of the box. Wiped the grease off his fingers on his black jeans and crossed over his legs.

“Well, you grew up outside of London based on your accent. You have a sister who is older than you, but we’ve already established that. Your mother passed away at a young age, and you have a bad relationship with father mainly because of his drinking and abusive behaviour. Though you are close to Harry, she is generally responsible but something happened in her past that makes you worry about her. Perhaps some form of addiction or mental illness. You’re mother was a nurse, which is why you wanted some form of medicine, to honour her memory. But you also have a genuine need to help others, due to the suffering which you have endured.”

Sherlock refused to look at John while making his deductions, but he was soon looking at him when he heard his laughter.

“That’s bloody brilliant. Jesus Sherlock, I’ve never been so impressed. I’m blown away, how did you know all of that?”

Sherlock crocked his head, and it was at that moment did Sherlock realize exactly why he was so attracted to John. Mr. Watson is the most brilliant man he has had the pleasure of meeting. No one other than Mycroft or Irene has ever been even slightly impressed by his deducting skills. He was not only impressed but encouraged it! He also wanted to understand the thought process behind it. He needed to thank Irene next time he sees her.

* * *

 

John walked home Sherlock home, he hasn’t had a night like this in the longest time. He’s been on a few dates in the past few years, but nothing worth pursuing. Then seeing Sherlock in his rugby jacket with a gentle smile on his face, his cheeks and nose rosy from the cold, his eyes lighting up whenever he was encouraged, his body becoming more relaxed with every minute passing. John has never met anyone so extraordinary before, it was so interesting to get a little look into such a complicated mind, his breath would get taken away with every peace of information rolling off the taller man’s tongue.

When Sherlock quick footsteps came to a sudden stop in front of a very beautiful house he felt his heart sink, because that meant that his night out with the world’s most fascinating man has come to an end.

“I had a lot of fun, Sherlock. Really! It was amazing.”

“Are you intoxicated?”

Lovely Sherlock.

“I’m just a little buzzed, that’s all. I would love to this again.”

That was not a good facial expression.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to do this again. No hard feelings.”

Yeah it felt like crap hearing nothing but silence. John could take a hint. He wasn’t angry, it’s not like Sherlock owed him anything. He has every right to choose who he wants to go out with.

“Like I said no hard feelings, Sherlock. Tell Irene I said…”

That sentence never saw an end because John’s lips collided Sherlock’s. At first it was incredibly awkward; he could tell that his taller companion lacked experience in this field as well. But Sherlock was nothing but a fast learner, and after a moment of adjusting John’s hands were in the crazy mass of curls, and Sherlock’s warm hand on the side of his neck, out lining his jaw with his thumb.

He could feel his warm skin on his, his breath was quick, he felt Sherlock’s smile through the kiss, which brought John an unbelievable sense of joy. Sherlock was happy to kiss him. Very happy. And eager. Yep, if John doesn’t break this up right now it’s going to turn into something different, didn’t Sherlock mention that Mycroft’s boyfriend was a PC. Definitely time to break this up.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Sherlock’s pupils were dilated, his lips were just as red as his very cold nose. He had a look of desperation on his face and it broke John’s heart to no end.

“No, no of course you didn’t. You were fantastic, but id need to breath.”

“Oh. I- I am sorry.”

“Don’t be, you’re brilliant. Never apologize for being you, Sherlock. Never!”

The pride grew inside John seeing Sherlock’s face turn red. He just had to kiss him again, just a peck.

Well that was a rather long peck.

“Shit Sherlock, I really have to go. I’ll get your number from Irene, okay?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Alright. Good night Sherlock.”

John has never felt so intoxicated in his life, and it had nothing to do with the couple of beers he drank. He was very excited to see where all this could go.


	3. Mycroft's Dilemma.

Sherlock felt, for the lack of a better word, giddy! He kissed a boy, and not just any plain, boring boy, he kissed John Watson. He kissed him and he kissed him back. He felt a huge sense pride, excitement, and anticipation for the next time he could do it.

As he made his way to the front door he began to replay the events of the night. This was going to be put in a very special place in his mind palace. Something to, hopefully, look back on and take comfort in when he was forced to be in the company of strangers.

He walked through the front door, and it was then he had realized he was still wearing John’s rugby jacket. He really should be giving it back to him, but he was probably half way across London by now, there was no way he could catch up to him. Of course his hesitation had nothing to do with the fact that he adored having John’s sent envelope him with warmth, reminding him of the fire of their passion.

“That’s a lovely jacket. Does it belong to that young lad you were with?”

Sherlock felt relived that the voice belonged to neither mummy nor father, but he was not very fond of whom that voice belonged to either.

“That is none of your concern, Lestrade.”

“He’s quite good-looking. J. Watson, what does the J stand for?”

“What are you doing here? Our parents will not approve of them waking up to the sounds of you and my brother’s fornication.”

“You’re parents had to leave for the weekend, you twat! So you’ll be seeing a lot of me for the next few days. Plus, People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.”

“I have no idea to what you are referring to.”

“I saw you snogging Mr. Watson out there. You’re not very discreet either. And is that a love bite I see on little Sherlock’s neck?” Greg took a step closer to pull down the collar of Sherlock’s shirt, but his hand was quickly swatted away.

“Unlike you, John can control his primal urges.” Sherlock began to walk away, but a horrific realization stopped him from taking anymore steps.

“Lestrade.” He said without turning. “Mycroft… I hope… you will not…”

“I saw nothing. You can tell him when you’re good and ready. I will be making breakfast tomorrow; you’re welcomed to join us.”

“Then I shall not leave my room before noon.” He went up the stairs, taking them two at a time, trying to escape Greg’s ever-growing grin as quickly as he could. Once he was in the safety of his room he let loose of his huge smile, he was unbelievably happy. He never understood why people did the whole dating thing; it all seemed like transport, but when John entered his life in this glorious night he finally saw it as a necessity. He needed to know more about him, he needed to feel John’s warm hand rapping around his own, he needed to feel him smiling through their kisses, and overall he needed John; because John was special.

He took off the bright jacket and carefully placed it on the chair of his desk that was facing his bed. He wanted that to be the first thing he saw when he woke up in the morning; he wanted the first name to pop into his head when he woke up to be John’s.

* * *

 

“There you are my dear; I was beginning to wonder if you got lost.”

“No. I did come across Sherlock, though.” Greg said while passing Mycroft a cup of tea and placing his own cup on the bedside table then sitting on the foot of the bed so he can face his artist.

“How is my brother? He did not come back home with a blood drenched shirt? Perhaps miscellaneous body parts in a plastic bag?”

Greg smiled and, for a second, thought about telling Mycroft about what he had seen, but decided not to. He hated the idea of keeping secrets from the man he loved, but this was not his secret to tell. Plus, Sherlock and he do not have the best relationship; he didn’t need to make it worse.

“No, no body parts or else I would have had to make an arrest, I’m afraid.”

“Does being in a long-term relationship with a PC have no perks?” Mycroft flashed him the most innocent look he could mange.

“Well, that’s not entirely true; Us PCs do have handcuffs. Those have come in handy a few times, as far as I can remember.” Greg shot him what he had hoped was a flirtatious look.

Mycroft turned bright red. They had been dating for the past five years and Mycroft’s face has never failed to turn into that lovely shade of red whenever he complemented him or made a “Vulgar” gesture or comment at Mycroft, Greg will stop making them when Mycroft stops looking so adorable when he does.

After taking a long sip of his own cup of tea, Greg finally got up the courage to ask the question he’d wanted to ask for the past few days.

“Sweetheart, I really don’t want to bring you down, but I’ve got to ask. How did the talk with your parents go?”

Mycroft is a private person. He found expressing the way he truly felt to be incredibly difficult, even with Greg. He would just bottle it all up. Greg suspected that was the effect of his wonderful mother, but after many years on analyzing and arguing he can now read Mycroft’s facial expressions like an open book. He could see how badly the talk went by the distress in his partner’s face. Not that they’d expected it to go any other way. It isn’t like Mycroft’s parents are the understanding or nurturing type.

“They are giving me a time period of two weeks to find a job and a place of residence that is not under the Holmes name, or I shall have to go back to university.”

“WHAT?!” Greg said whilst chocking on his tea.

“They are trying to give me unrealistic goals to fulfil so I will be forced to go back to university.” He stared blankly at a small area of his duvet, lost in thought with so much hurt running through his face. Mycroft hated university and the thought of him doing something he hated for so long drove Greg insane with anger. He’s never liked his partner’s parents, he hated what they did to the man he loved. He hated how their words cut through him like a million daggers to his chest.

“I’m so sorry, love. We’ll find you a job, I promise.”

“Gregory, there’s no point in doing all this.”

His heart was shattered as the words fell out of Mycroft’s mouth. Art was everything to him, and Greg isn’t going to let anything in this world change just how passionate Mycroft was about it, not if he had any say in it.

Greg moved from the foot of the bed to get closer to him. It felt so natural for his left arm to rap around the shorter man’s shoulders bringing them closer together, for his body to adjust to Mycroft’s thin frame so his head could lay on his wide chest, for his fingers to run smooth soothing circles into his red hair. Their bodies felt like they were made for each other, Mycroft was his and he was Mycroft’s, no one moredominant, nether was poorer or richer, they were equals when they were rapped in each other’s embrace.

“Why would you say that? Mycroft, you’re art is worth every peace of effort we put into it, you and you’re art are very important and deserve recognition.”

He felt his partner’s nose nuzzle in his chest, his hand making it’s way to his face to hide what Greg knew were his tears.

“Do they not understand how difficult this is for me? Leaving university to a career I have no way of being certain I will ever be successful in. This is not easy and they insist on making it even harder.”

“In a way, a very twisted one I’ll admit, they think they are protecting you. They want to see you happy and they think that their path is what is going to make you happy. That doesn’t make them right, or excuse their behaviour in any way but this is simply where they’re coming from.”

“Even if I find a job there is no way I‘ll be able to find an affordable flat in a time period of two weeks. We live in London, for heavens sake.”

“Well, this is definitely not how I wanted to ask you, but… you could always come and live with me.”

Mycroft’s body tensed up and Greg began to miss the feel of his lover’s body turning into mush in his muscular one.

“Gregory, I believe the news of me leaving university was almost shocking enough to give both my parents a stroke.”

“You don’t have to tell them.”

Mycroft removed himself from his arms and sat upright facing him with sternness visible in his face. He knew this look well, it was the same kind of look he gave Sherlock when he caught him smoking Greg’s cigarettes, the one he gave to salespersons charging him way too much, the kind he made when talking on the phone to one of his professorswho was obviously mistaken in everything they were saying. When he saw that look he knew it was time for an argument or “an intense discussion” as Mycroft liked to call it.

“You are not a stupid man, Gregory.”

“I think Sherlock would argue otherwise.” He said jokingly. He realised just how big of a mistake that was shortly after. Skin melting gazes seemed to be hereditary in this family.

“I have always adored your sense ofhumour, but this is not the time for jokes. As I was saying, you are not a stupid man; surely you must know my mother will want to see the flat, so she can becertain I am not committing some form of trickery. You live in a small one bedroom flat; I believe it is going to be nearly impossible for us to convince her that we are nottogether.”

“You could tell her that a friend of yours was moving out of town and was considering subletting the flat. He owes you a few favours so he let’s you stay in it at an affordable price.”

“And the furniture?”

“It could be a furnished flat.”

He could see the gears in Mycroft’s head turning, and it made him smile. If Mycroft really needed to think of a reason then that means he made a good argument. In their five years of dating he can definitely say he has picked up a few things, like the art of making a really brilliant argument. All Mycroft had to do now was let go of his ego and move in with the one man he loved.

“It is not right.”

“What isn’t right?”

“You are suffering because of me, because of my so called art. You should not have to break your back trying to accommodate to my needs. I am not your child, I am meant to be your partner, I am meant to share my life with you not suck away every peace of energy you have so I can succeed in a field I am obviously not meant to go into. I am going back to university. Mummy and father were right, I am a failu…”

“Mycroft Holmes, if you value my life you better not finish that sentence, because so help me god if I hear the most breathtakingly amazing human being devalue himself I will jump out that fucking window.”

Judging by how pail and shocked Mycroft looked, Greg assumed he was not expecting that reaction from him. His blue eyes not looking away from his tanned skin. Even when Mycroft was severely low-spirited he made Greg’s heart skip a beat.

“Look Mycroft, you know I am not the best at the whole talking thing, and even if I was I would not be capable of expressing just how deeply in love I am with you. You’re art is your way of expressing who you are as a person, and I would have to feel very ashamed of myself if I said that I love you but not love the biggest part of you. Part of loving you is supporting you through whatever you want to pursue in life. Jesus Mycroft, do I have to remind you what I do for a living? I’m a PC for fucks sake, a PC who aspires to become a detective; I will be chasing murderers and serial killers. You are the most protective person I have ever met, but not once have you tried to talk me out of it, because you love me, therefore you support me. Shouldn’t I get the chance to return the favour?”

The tears running down Mycroft’s would make him feel very worried, but when paired with his dazzling smile it made him realise he said it right. The pride that blossomed inside him caused him to break into his own toothy smile.

Mycroft’s hands found themselves settled on his broad chest, his face inches away from his own, lips almost touching, his lovers pale thumb tracing his very eager lips, his lips then parted taking in the thumb and sucking gently.

“I love you too, Gregory. There’s nothing I want more then to come home knowing that it was ours, but… I need time to think all of this through. This is such an overwhelming time for me, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. I understand this is a lot to take in. I just need to you to know that you are not failure for needing help. I am your partner, and that is what partners do. They share a life together, both the sweet and the bitter parts of life. We are here for each other.”

Mycroft nodded and rested his head on his chest once more.

Every time Mycroft insulted himself Greg felt a part of him die. He hated how his artist saw himself. He hated the daily doses of verbal abuse him and Sherlock had to deal with. Their brilliance drowned in piles of cutting words and endless amounts of criticism. He couldn’t imagine living in a household filled with so much hatred and negativity. But now he had a chance to help give Mycroft a happy home and a safe haven for Sherlock. All Mycroft needed to do is say the word and Greg’s arms will be there to embrace him and welcome him to their new home.

* * *

 

“Sherlock wake up.”

“Sherlock, I need to talk to you.”

“Sherlock!”

“WHAT??!” Sherlock said in a voice tinted with sleep.

“I need to tell you about my date.”

“Irene… Are you aware of the time? How did you get into the house?”

Irene gestured to the window. “The door was locked.”

“That is how people politely tell others to go away.”

“That’s no way to talk to the girl who gave your number to your brand new boyfriend.”

Now that got Sherlock up. John had kept his word. He truly did intend on going on a second date. He was worried he was simply being polite. Now Sherlock was sure, as well as relieved.

“Did you see him?”

“You know there’s this magical thing called texting.”

“I would point out the hypocrisy of that statement but your brain seems to be working at an even slower pace this evening.” Sherlock took a look at his electric clock. “You do realise I have a five hour ballet practice tomorrow?”

“You’re always in such a bad mood in the morning.”

“And yet you keep coming back.”

Irene gasped dramatically and got off the bed to roll around on the ground gripping her shirt at where her heart should be.

“If you must die in my room, I urge you to do it quietly.”

“I am gutted by your harsh words, but I shall forgive you.”

“I do not care if you do.”

Irene got off the ground and into his bed, tucked her small body under the duvet beside him. She cuddled up to Sherlock, laying her head on his chest.”

“Do you not have your own bed?”

Irene shushed him, and then gently placed her right index finger on his lips. “I’m very happy.”

“And that concerns me because…?”

She shushed him once more. “Just listen Sherlock, hear the words come out of my mouth and make no comment. I kissed Molly. I just kissed her, nothing more. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gone on a date and just kissed a girl and didn’t do anything more than kissing? As fun as it is to do those things I’ve honestly missed the simplicity of this. She kissed me while sober, we were both sober. She didn’t stink of vodka or tequila, she smelled of coffee and sugar coated pastries. She didn’t have to stop kissing me because she needed to throw up or because she felt guilty about cheating on her boyfriend. She was tender and kind. I am so happy Sherlock, so happy.”

Sherlock did as he was told. He listened and tried to understand the complex emotions Irene was going through, and realised just how similar they both felt about their dates tonight. Irene has never shown any romantic needs, she never spoke of relationships or love, at least not in a positive manner.

“Do you want to talk about your date?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

Sherlock suddenly felt a hint of guilt. Irene was vulnerable; maybe he should try doing that as well.

“I kissed John.”

“That’s great Sherlock. I hope it was better than our first kiss.”

“Can we discuss this in the morning?”

“Fine.” There was a moment of silence. “I am not going to enjoy myself.” She said mimicking Sherlock’s deep voice.

“Get out of my bed.”

“No chance in hell William.”

Removing Irene Adler off of the bed would be like trying to pull a baby sloth away from its mother, and he was far too tired for that. He decided that it would be best for him to accept just the fact that she was here to stay.

* * *

 

The violent beeping of his alarm was what woke Sherlock up. He let out a small grunt of displeasure. Perhaps Irene was right; he is not a morning person. He noticed that Irene was not in bed, and sincerely hoped she went back home, but then noticed she had left her script for the play here with her black glasses resting on top off it.

 With great difficulty, Sherlock managed to sit up and when he was greeted by the bright red jacket on his office chair he felt his heart beat a little faster. He then quickly got out of bed and made his way to his trousers.

He dug into the pockets, searching for his phone in a slightly panicked frenzy. When he unlocked the phone he felt his heart swell.

 

           good morning Sherlock :)

           this is John Watson btw

           probably should have said that first :P

 

His hands were sweating, his heart was racing, and he was feeling slightly sick. When did he trur onto such a cliché? He has been in rooms surrounded by dukes and the elite parts of society and never in his seventeen years of life feel nervous talking to someone. He never cared how people perceived him. This was an all new feeling to him.

 

           Good morning John. I am happy to see that Irene gave you my actual number. SH

 

He began to dress himself in pyjamas and a robe when his phone let out a beep a lot sooner than he had expected.

 

           she didn’t. she might have given me greg’s number

           he seems like a really nice guy. didn’t do the whole intimidation thing I was expecting

 

Killing Irene would be far too merciful. He had much moregruesome punishment in mind. She not only humiliated him in front of John, but she also involved Lestrade. His phone let out another beep interrupting his train of thought.

 

           I really hope you’re not murdering Irene right now

           I’ve known her for a little while

           I was expecting her to make this difficult

 

           I have not murdered her. SH

           Yet. SH

           I should have given you my phone number last night, along with your jacket. SH

 

           Oh don’t worry about it

           You’re worth the effort & the jacket ;)

 

           Flatterer. SH

 

           It’s hard not to be when it involved you

 

           I think I might be sick. SH

 

Sick with overwhelming delight, but no one needed to know that.

 

           Yeah that was pretty terrible

           I’m obviously not very good at this

           I wasn’t expecting you to text me so early

           don’t you have ballet practice today?

 

The fact that John remembered their brief talk about his ballet impressed Sherlock. He was obviously listening to Sherlock’s rambles as well as he seemed to be. That made him feel very happy indeed.

 

           Yes I do, but it’s not for another couple of hours. SH

 

           So you’re free?

 

Sherlock stared at his screen for a moment. He felt like the man on the other end of this conversation was hinting at something, but what if he was wrong? What if he made a complete fool of himself to the only person that has ever shown any sort of romantic interest in him? He needed Irene, as much as it made his teeth grid and his blood boil to admit it. Irene was better at this.

Sherlock ran out of his room and began shouting her name down the stairs. He entered the kitchen to see his older brother making breakfast with Lestrade. Irene was sitting on a breakfast stool looking particularly annoyed with a peace of toast sticking out of her mouth.

“It was a joke Sherlock! He will survive!”

Lestrade gave a knowing look to the younger man when his partner wasn’t looking.

“Who will survive if you don’t mind me asking?” Mycroft questioned the black haired woman sitting in front of him.

“This is nothing that concerns you, you carrot headed buffoon.” Sherlock snapped “Irene I… I need you assistance with something.”

Two faces looking equally mortified at the statement. Lestrade, on the other hand had what Sherlock could only describe as a “shit eating grin”.

Irene quickly got off the stool, still looking slightly confused at Sherlock’s statement. Once they were out of the room he handed her the phone.

“Seriously Sherlock? Do you actually have to be grammatically correct even when you’re texting? You did the whole thing with signing your name to the texts as well. Remind me to ask John why he likes you next time I see him.”

“You have done enough damage already. Look at the last text.”

Irene scrolled down and frowned, then looked up at him with a hint of a smile. “He asked if you were free.”

“Yes I can see that. What does it mean?”

“It means he was wondering if you were doing any form of activity this morning.”

“I understand that. What is the hidden meaning within the text?”

“What the hell are you going on about Sherlock?”

Sherlock threw his arms in the air and rolled his eyes.

“Sherlock there is no hidden meaning. It’s just a simple question.”

“Then how do I respond?”

“Are you doing anything?”

“No.”

“Do you plan on avoiding him?”

“No.”

“Then you tell him you’re free for breakfast.” Irene then turned her back and walked back into the kitchen.

Sherlock was filled with confusion. It can’t be that simple, could it? Irene has no issue when it comes to humiliating him, why stop now? Because she is not that horrible, that’s why.

 

           Yes, I am free for the next few hours. I want breakfast. SH

           With you. SH

           Preferably. SH

 

           I would love to!

           anywhere in particular?

 

Sherlock began texting him the details of his favourite coffee shop that is very close to the dance studio.

Once the texts were sent he came to the full realization to what he just agreed to do. He was going on a proper date with John. He was excited; he knew he wanted to go forward with this, oddly enough. He also felt his nerves grow slightly.

He was letting something so passive into his life for no logical reason. It made no sense to him. Sherlock is a logical man making an illogical decision. Letting this man into his life for what? And yet he couldn’t stop himself from going up the wooden staircase. He had no control over the bubbly feeling in his stomach or the smile that was drawn on his face when he thought of the kiss. The kiss that made him feel that odd feeling in his stomach. The kiss that made his knees go weak. The kiss that caused his skin to flush into an even pastier white. The kiss that heinitiated, why in the name of everything that he held dear to him did he do that? Why was he doing anything he was doing anything he has done in the past twenty four hours?

His actions went against everything he stood for. Pursuing relationships was a useless act of desperation committed by those who lacked purpose andintellect. But there he was changing into black jeans and a plain black shirt. Neatly folding the red jacket and placing it in his pre-packed ballet bag. Attempted the impossible task of taming the insane curls, but quickly realized that his efforts were fruitless. He did not understand his actions or his new found needs and that deeply frustrated him. There are few things Sherlock didn’t understand and he was never one of them. Perhaps the best way to understand everything he was going through was to conduct scientific experiment. Yes, this “date” will be a field experiment for his research into the human need for relationships. He is simply collecting data.

With the converse on his feet and the sunglasses over his eyes, he began to walk to the front door.

“Oh Sherlock…”

WHAT NOW!?

“… good luck on your date.”

He tried to give a death glare to the PC but the genuine smile on the idiots face made it very difficult.

Over the years, Sherlock had grown fond of Lestrade. Not that he would EVER admit it, because it might cause him to have a heart attack before the words even made their way out. He was unconditionally kind to Mycroft, something Sherlock felt he’d never understand. Why would anyone be so kind to people like him and Mycroft? They were so different, so difficult to deal with, not worth the tremendous amount of effort because they would never contain the full ability to show theirgratitude.Admittedly, Mycroft seems like he had improved greatly in his sentiment through his five years with PC Lestrade.

He chose to not respond to his remark and continued to make his way to the door.

* * *

 

Mycroft knew that Irene and Gregory were keeping something from him. He also knew it had something to do with Sherlock. What it actually was seems to be a mystery.

His beautiful Gregory made his way back into the kitchen. With his hair flopping in a gorgeousbrown mess on his head, the bags under his eyes are black from exhaustion which isn’t surprising as a result of his long hours, his arms thin but lean. How did he get so lucky? Though, Gregory’s offer has been keeping the young artist’s mind very busy. Living with his Gregory, having a place they could call their own after five years of dating, and all he had to do was say yes. And yet, there was something stopping him from saying so. What was wrong with him? He desperately wants this, he hated his lonely bed at his university dormitories, and what choice did he have? If not with Gregory then where else would he go? He would be forced to return to university for his masters and give up on the only dream he has ever had.

Tanned hands rapped around his waste from behind, bringing his own body closer to the warmth of the man he loved, landing gentle kisses on the back of his neck. This is what he wanted, everyday for the rest of his life, his Gregory’s there when he needed him. He will have to let go of his ego and work for whatever was left of his life repaying his lover’s never-ending kindness.

“Look at you too, looking like an old domestic couple. It’s sickening.”

“Oh Mycroft, I think Irene is jealous. Don’t worry you’ll find someone who will love you as much as we love each other and then you can make Sherlock feel sick.”

Irene’s broke out into slight shade of crimson and her head bowed down to her plate with a smile.

“I sense there is something your hiding from me Irene, would I be correct in assuming that you have found that person my dear Gregory was referring to?”

The look on Irene’s face was enough of an answer for the older men.

“Has our little player found someone worthy enough of her time?”

Irene stuck her tongue out and threw an old rag and the brown haired man’s face.

“Do you feel comfortable talking about it yet?”

“Fuck comfort, tell me about her! Is she pretty? Does she have eyes that sparkle when she laughs? You and I are the only one’s that find women to be attractive. There are just so many dick loving people in this household.”

It was now Mycroft’s turn to whack the side of his lover’s arm, which earned him a kiss on the cheek.

“That might not be true; Sherlock could show an interest in women. Then you will have some to talk to about… the female reproductive system.”

“You can’t even say it, can you? Come on, I dare you to say vagina.”

“I do not…”

“Pussy?”

“Gregory…”

“CUN…”

“GREGORY! You will not use that kind of language in front of Irene!”

“Don’t worry about it Mycroft, my mouth has done far more then just use those words.”

“I hear nothing. I have been defined as a result of serious trauma.”

The image of Irene and Gregory giving each other a high-five did not help with his ability to see either.

“I believe a change of subject is in order. So tell us about your girlfriend, Irene.”

“I wouldn’t call her my girlfriend just yet, Mycroft. We’ve only been on one date. Her name is Molly Hooper.”

“Isn’t she in Sherlock’s Biology class?” asked Gregory.

“Yeah, has he talked about her before?”

“Nothing really significant, just told me how incompetent she was by not letting him put some kind of chemical in a frog’s inner organs. I like her already.”

“Well she works at the coffee shop I usually go to after drama. She’s a year older than me and she wants to study medicine, same as John.”

“Who’s John?”

Gregory’s body went a little stiff at the question.

“He’s a friend of Irene’s. He’s a year older than her, he’s a med student, and they used to date.”

“That does not bother you?”

“No, of course not. She’s a lesbian, he’s bi, and they’re totally over it. Plus they were young when they started dating; it was more of a matter of practicality then attraction.”

“I see.”

And he definitely did. He had a better idea of what they might by hiding, and if it was what he had in mind he can understand why they had kept it from him.

“Anyway, she’s really nice and funny. She’s really ambitious and I love that, I have a feeling she’s a bit introverted which I don’t mind.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah she really does. I’m really happy for you Irene.”

Irene might not be as hard-shelled as Sherlock but she was not far off. But even she couldn’t hide her excitement at what might come.

“Well I’m going to leave you love birds alone. I’ve got an audition to practice for.”

“Good luck.”

She smiled and grabbed her last peace of toast and was out the door.

“I can’t believe she’s actually found someone she attracted to on a romantic level. I just assumed she was aromantic.”

“I though so as well. It is nice to see her happy. Whether she was in a relationship or not.”

“I love that girl, I feel like I’ve known her forever.”

“We are the closest thing she has ever had to a functional and caring family. You know what her father is like.”

“And it kills me a little every time I think about it.”

“She will be out of there soon. She is making a career for herself from such a young age. She is incredibly talented and hardworking. And…”

Here goes nothing.

“…She could always come and spend the night at our flat if Sherlock is not being helpful.”

Gregory stopped cleaning the dishes and looked at Mycroft for a moment as if to determent whether or not he heard him right. Then, a huge smile almost ripped his face in two. Warm hands cupping his cheeks, placing happy messy kisses on his lips, pulling away only to laugh to himself.

“I am going to make you the happiest man on the face of this planet, I promise.”

“You already have.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the very first fanfics I have ever written, so please be patient with me.  
> I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if you have any suggestions on how I can improvYour comments are much appreciated!!


End file.
